New Friends!
by ChocolateShapeshifter
Summary: When Makenna Wright buys a house on the river dividing the main city of Gotham from the Narrows, she's not worried about the prospects of meeting any crazies. But when two certain criminals show up at her house and demand shelter, she begins to rethink what she defines as 'insanity' as they strike up a friendship. No romance, I promise!


A/N: Hey guys! I doubt anyone cares at all, but I'm back! This is my attempt at the cheesy OC meeting rouges/becoming friends story, but I promise that there's no romance involved! Enjoy, but only if you want to!

My first mistake was buying a house that was close to the Narrows. It was a beautiful one, much better than anything I had ever experienced as a kid. It was straight out of a fantasy for me. Looking at it, I was reminded of my plans for the future when I was younger, and this house was it. It was the third or fourth house I had visited, and it was love at first sight. The real estate agent in charge of it practically threw it at me, and then nearly got down on her knees and begged me to buy it.

Apparently, it had been on her hands far too long and potential buyers were being repelled by the thought of the house being just across the river from the Narrows. I know that's a frightening aspect for some, but I just feel sorry for those who live over there. It's not their fault (most of the time, anyway). I mean, there were criminals over there, not to mention Arkham, but I figured they wouldn't bother crossing over much. Besides, Batman was always around, and what was the likelihood of escaped inmates choosing the one house out of the hundreds lining the river's banks?

So I bought the house on the spot, using up what little money I had managed to save up during my working career. I had just graduated from college, with a double major in psychology and forensics, but I hadn't managed to find a job dealing with that yet. I currently worked a paper pushing job at a faceless corporation where I was just another employee among the crowd, living off basically minimum wage. Her fears about the house made me a little uneasy, but I ignored it, chalking her and everyone else's fears up to superstition.

I would have had to be crazy to pass the house up. It was pretty huge for just one person to live it, but it was a lot cheaper than the smaller ones I had looked at that were closer to town. It was a three bedroom house with pretty much anything a girl could want. It looked pretty old from the outside, likely built during Gotham's early years. But the inside had been recently refurbished and painted, although on certain days it smelled like old wood and decay. It only added to the house's charm.

All of the bedrooms were upstairs, and I chose the master bedroom for myself, which had a bathroom inside of it. I liked the upstairs especially, because there was a rail on the edge of the hallway, and if you looked over, you could see most of the downstairs. There was also a balcony, much to my liking, and I knew I would be spending a lot of time there. The only part I didn't like about the house was that it had a basement, and I wasn't going down there for anything.

I lived pretty much alone. All of my relatives avoided Gotham at all costs, and I hadn't ever really made time for friends. I had a few really good ones though, but they don't come in until later. I had fun, but I was much more interesting in staying home than going out and partying. My house was pretty full now – I prided myself on my pitiful decorating skills. Not that anyone ever came by to see it, anyway.

So, to recap, my first mistake was buying the irresistible house by the Narrows. My second would probably be opening my front door to two complete strangers, and grown men, at that. My third, and probably most fatal mistake, was stepping aside and letting them enter my house.

The day before they came was a Friday, which meant work. I had to wake up at six-fifteen just to get ready, and that was the most I could sleep without looking like a total slob. Like most days, I lay in bed and listened to the alarm go off for a while. I am a very heavy sleeper, and could easily fall back asleep, alarm or no. When I was younger, I was known in my household for sleeping through fire alarms. So I stayed in bed for awhile, unwilling to part with the warm spot that I had made during the night.

But then I thought of my boss' face when I'm late, and I scowled. If that's not motivation to get up, then I don't know what is. I waited for a few more minutes, then leaned over and slapped my palm on the offending machine. Once the alarm was off, I swung my feet over the side and sat there, willing myself to get up. I rubbed my eyes, feeling no motivation to go to my horrible job.

It was the best I could find at the time, which was very degrading for someone with a college degree in psychology. My boss, Tony Gonzales, was a chauvinist pig, who treated me as an inferior. I could just walk in the room, and you could just feel him acquire his superior attitude. I was treated to the most mundane tasks he could imagine. I could feel myself dying slowly inside every time I entered the hated building.

When I finally arrived after walking a few blocks (I hated driving, and the cool October air woke me up to functioning), I pulled open the squeaky front door with disdain. It had been loudly protesting the first time I walked into this disgraceful company, and no one had fixed it yet. The carpet was the cheap, grey, industrial brand, but it was very stained with who knows what. My office was on the third floor, and I always took the stairs to avoid the rickety elevator.

As soon as I stepped in my cubicle, my boss was there like a vulture drawn to a dying animal. I held back an angry sigh and an eye roll. I really needed the job, so I had to pretend to behave.

"You're late," he said calmly, raising his eyebrows. He was a rather chunky man, with a bushy moustache living under his nose like a furry caterpillar. His sparse hair was in a comb-over that only made him look worse. When he talked, he wheezed every breath and made you want to just back away. He had chronic bad breath. It was all I could do not to scream upon seeing him.

"No, I'm not," I said evenly as I could, keeping my eyes to the ground. I have a horrible temper that likes to explode at the worst possible times. "I'm ten minutes early," I pointed out, risking looking up. He had gone red-faced, which wasn't a good sign. I braced myself.

"I think I know when my employees are on time or not," he said dangerously, and I kept my mouth shut. I used to not ever know the times to stop talking, but I've gotten better.

"Of course, sir," I say passively, "I'm very sorry. May I get to work to make it up?" He didn't say anything, only giving me a curt nod. I edge past him into my tiny space. I had put a few small movie posters up to make myself feel better, but it wasn't really working. My stack of papers was sitting there waiting for me, just like it always was. I sighed and began to plow through their endless depths. No one visited to bother or talk to me, mostly because in Tony's eyes, talking to me was a taboo. It was a pretty lonely job, and I couldn't wait to leave it.

I was on my last task for the day, having worked through lunch to get everything done. I was currently eating my sandwich with one hand and typing with the other. What I had been working on was apparently an important document for Tony. I finished with a smile, hoping I'd get to leave after I finished. I hit print, and waited for the paper to slide out of the tray. I grabbed it while it was still warm and walked lightly down the hall to the copier room.

I put the paper on the glass and hit the copy button. There was a quiet whirring sound, and then the sickening sound of metal grinding against itself. That didn't sound good at all. I hit the button again to the same result. A pang went through my chest as I realized I wouldn't be able to get Tony his paper on time. That didn't bode well. I removed the paper and made my way to his office, like a prisoner to their execution.

I knocked once, and he barked for me to come in. I slid in, blushing profusely.

"Sir," I began, already flinching, "The copier isn't working and I won't be able to get your papers to you." He turned slightly purple, puffing up in anger.

"What do you mean you won't have my papers for me?" he said gruffly, staring me down.

"The copier's broken, sir. If you could just call the IT guys, I'm sure they could fix it in no time," I whispered, staring down at his coffee-stained carpet.

"Let me see it," he said, holding out his hand for the paper. I handed him the report, and then put my hands behind my back. He read it, mouthing the words to himself, and then tore it in half. "Awful," he declared, "I expect you to come back Sunday to fix it and make sure the copier's working. You're lucky I'm not firing you on the spot." I nodded silently.

_"Please don't cry please don't cry please don't cry," _I repeated over and over in my head.

"Get out," Tony said, spinning his desk chair around. I numbly found the doorknob and let myself out. Once safely out of his office, the tears escaped the dam I had been trying to build. I sniffled, my head down, escaping back to my office so I could grab my stuff and leave. Not looking where I was going, I ran smack dab into the strong form of a man.

I looked up quickly, hurriedly wiping my nose, to see a rich looking man in a suit. I instantly recognized him – and who in Gotham couldn't? – as Bruce Wayne. He looked slightly surprised, but he recovered. I flinched as he held up his hand, already jumpy. He was holding up a handkerchief, smiling sympathetically.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. I nodded, taking the fabric gratefully and walking away quickly, trying to preserve any dignity I had left.

"I'm very, very sorry," I apologized loudly, leaving him with a curious expression on his face. I didn't really care why he was in this shabby building. He could have been buying it out, for all I knew. It didn't matter at the time, and I grabbed all of my stuff and practically ran outside. I paused to compose myself before leaving, or else other passerby would see a tear-stricken girl and wonder what was wrong. People seeing me cry is one of the worst things that could happen to me.

I made my way home, wrapping my arms around my middle to provide a little warmth. I usually loved this time of year, what with Halloween just within reach, but I just wasn't myself anymore. Reaching my beautiful house, I thrust my hand into my pocket to retrieve my keys. But they weren't there. I checked all of my pockets, and felt like crying. I remembered leaving my keys on my desk, where I had a left them in my hurry. Lucky for me, I kept a spare key outside, in a flower pot.

I dug under a plant, grasping for the single key. My hand closed around it finally, and I unlocked my door triumphantly, keeping the key. I would have to get the others when I went back on Sunday. I grimaced. I walked through most of my house to the kitchen, where I threw my key on the counter. I looked around, knowing all I needed and wanted to do, but after a day like that, I just couldn't find the motivation. It was getting late anyway, and I was tired, so I decided sleep was the best option.

I changed into my lounging pajamas because tomorrow was Saturday. That usually meant a relaxing, non-eventful day for me. I crawled back into bed, feeling pretty miserable about the whole day. I promised to make it up to myself the next day.

I woke up the next morning at ten, having slept the latest I possibly could, I rolled out of bed ten minutes later after convincing myself that I shouldn't waste the day. But since it was a Saturday, I absolutely refused to change out of my grungy pajamas. I loved being able to stay home, because I could relax, away from the stresses of work. I never looked in the mirror on Saturdays.

I shuffled slowly down my wooden steps, reaching my soft, white carpet on the bottom. I continued, yawning and rubbing my eyes, and relocated myself to my comfortable couch. From this superb location, I could watch the T.V. all while snuggled under a huge blanket. I was determined to spend a majority of the day lounging on the couch.

After a few hours of mind-numbing reality T.V. shows, I decided to take a break. I can only take so much drama before it gets to me. I reached for the remote and clicked the television off, getting up at the same time. I yawned and stretched, reluctant to move, but I was getting stiff. Looking at the clock, I realized it was almost noon, which meant lunch.

I made my way to the kitchen, just through a door from my living room. With the blaring T.V. turned off, I could now hear rain pattering outside. I smiled, my first in a while. I've always loved the rain. It always works to brighten my mood. Reaching the kitchen, I began to dig through my fridge and panty, convinced that there was nothing to eat even though they were fully stocked.

I eventually settled for ramen and shoved it in my microwave. While the machine whirred and the cup spun, I got a glass out of my cabinet and poured myself some Diet Coke. I know it's really not that good for you, but I like the taste. My microwave beeped loudly and I pulled my lunch out. I stirred for a while, letting it cool. I absolutely hate burning my mouth.

I settled in a bar chair by my counter to enjoy my lunch. The rain had picked up now, and I could hear thunder in the distance. I was content, eating hot ramen while listening to the downpour outside. I knew my friend would probably be doing about the same.

Then, through the silence broken only by rain, I heard loud footsteps run up my porch steps. I stopped mid-bite, listening hard. There was no knock, so I assumed it was just someone trying to get out of the rain. That was fine with me; I'd hate to be stuck outside too.

But within a few seconds, an insistent pounding began. I put my lunch down and stood, meaning to go answer it. But I happened to catch a glimpse of what I was wearing, and stopped. I decided whatever it was couldn't be that important, just as the knocking resumed, louder this time.

Grumbling, I walked through the kitchen to get at the front door. I stopped short, though, struck with a sudden sense of foreboding. If I had listened to it, I would have saved myself a load of trouble. Instead, I told myself I was being stupid, and looked through the peephole.

Standing on my porch were two men. They looked drenched to the bone and ridiculously tired. They also looked extremely desperate. I sighed loudly, knowing I probably shouldn't open the door but feeling bad just the same. One kept looking over his shoulder like someone was after him. Against my gut feeling, I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

"Yes?" I asked, looking at the both of them. With the door now open, one's eyes lit up and the other just looked grim.

"Our car died a few feet up the road. Can we use your phone?" the grim one asked. His friend seemed to be swaying unsteadily.

"I-well, I," I stuttered, very flustered. I wasn't sure if I should let them in or not.

"Please?" the other asked, a pleading expression on his face. I sighed, leaning against the door frame.

"I suppose. Right in, then right back out, okay?" I said, before stepping aside. The pair literally stumbled into my house. We stood there for a moment, facing off. I wasn't very worried, not yet, but I knew I hadn't made a good choice. The nicer looking one reached over, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut. He leaned heavily on it, fumbling for the locks. Once the bolt slid home, my heart jumped into my throat. I thought I was going to faint. "You don't really need to do this," I whispered, "You can have whatever you want." They didn't answer.

I backed up a few steps, jus to see what they would do. Just stand and stare, as it turned out. I decided to size them up as well. The grim one was so thin, I thought I could see through him. He was almost transparent, and he looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Regardless, he looked like a bookish, learned man, and he eyed me as such. His piercing blue eyes shot darts through my very soul. I immediately felt very uneasy just looking at him. He was holding a burlap-something.

The other was more muscular looking and would probably be the one to look out for. He had bright green eyes and was smiling, although it seemed to me as if there was cruel cunning behind that smile. He looked very sure of himself, but something seemed to be wrong with him. He was wearing an odd, green-colored suit. My poor brain tried to connect the dots that were clearly in front of it, but it was failing miserably.

Both of them had brown hair, and it was also plastered around their faces from the rain. They were both dripping water on my carpet, but that wasn't what I was worried about. I had noticed a bright red splotch sharply contrasting with my white carpet. I wondered where it had come from, until another red droplet welled up underneath the nicer one's suit and fell to the carpet. For the first time, I noticed the huge tears in his jacket and the cuts on his skin.

"A-are you okay?" I asked, my worry overcoming my fear. The wounded one was trying to hide his pain, but he was doing a poor job of it. He would winced every once in a while, and you could tell it was all he could do not to groan.

"Some bandages and alcohol might be nice," he said, smiling. His friend, looking concerned, was now supporting him under the shoulders. He looked at me, and I felt a rush of fear.

"O-of course. Don't move," I said, turning and running up the stairs, making for my bathroom. I dug in my medicine cabinet, taking out anything useful. I had alcohol, gauze, and Mickey Mouse band-aids. On my way back, I grabbed a needle and a spool of thread on impulse. I wasn't sure how deep the cuts were, but I figured I couldn't be too careful. I left in a hurry, practically sprinting downstairs to find them missing.

Conveniently, however, there was a tell-tale trail of blood splots leading me to the kitchen. I edged past the basement door and entered to find the hurt one sitting on my counter, his suit jacket and shirt already off. My breath caught in my throat to see all of the horrible, deep, bleeding gashed and the bruises that had already started to form. He had taken a beating, and pretty recently by the looks of things.

The angry one noticed me standing there and motioned for me to come closer. I inched over, unsure of what he wanted.

"What did you find?" the thin one asked, trying to discern the jumble I held in my hands. I pushed it towards him.

"I have gauze, alcohol, and band-aids," I muttered. Looking at the band-aids, the hurt one smiled crookedly.

"At least they're not Batman band-aids," he joked. I smiled, mainly just to appease him. I didn't know why that mattered.

"Here," the thing one interrupted, thrusting a slightly pinkish-brown rag at me. With a shock of disgust, I realized the color was from his friend's blood that had been drying on his back. "Put some of that alcohol on this," he ordered. I winced, but I poured a small amount on the rag. He placed it on one of the hurt one's bigger gashes, who in turn hissed in pain and made a face.

"Should I go call the hospital or something?" I asked. It seemed like a valid question. He clearly had some experience with patching up wounds, but his friend seriously need medical attention. They both turned to me, shock on their faces.

"NO!" they shouted in unison, and I clamped my mouth shut. I was almost stunned to tears. Who in their right mind wouldn't want a doctor to look at them under such conditions? The thin one sighed condescendingly, and held out the rag for more antiseptic, which I gave him dutifully.

Once all the wounds had been cleaned, they were appraised for their severity. The shallower, light-bleeding cuts were graced with Mickey's smiling face, and that was that. The deep, heavily bleeding serious ones…let's just say I couldn't watch him sew his friend back together. When it was all said and done, he looked like a lab experiment gone wrong.

"Hey," I said, looking at the skinny one, "You're bleeding too." He had small cuts and bruises over most of his body. I leaned over, trying to cover one of his cuts with a band-aid, but he pulled away with disdain.

"I'm fine," he said haughtily, getting out of my reach. He exchanged a glance with the hurt one, who immediately slid off the table. My heart hammered in my chest and I remembered that I actually didn't want them here. They slowly walked towards me menacingly, and I backed up until I hit a wall. I felt like a cornered animal. The injured one moved closer, and he raised his hand. I flinched and closed my eyes, waiting to be hit. When the punch/slap didn't come, I cautiously opened my eyes to see him holding out his hand for me to shake. I took it reluctantly.

"Edward. Edward Nigma at your service," he said, giving my hand a strong pump. He smirked to see me pale at the mention of his name. My mouth tried to form words, but my tongue flopped uselessly. "Yep, and that's Jonathan Crane, there. I'm sure you know him as well?" I nodded dumbly, terrified into silence. My heart was pounding loudly in my ears.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked after a few heartbeats of terrified silence. The Riddler barked out a laugh, amused.

"Maybe. Who's to say?" he said, grinning hugely. At that, I took off, dodging the both of them and making for the stairs. As far as I could tell, they weren't bothering to give chase but I knew they'd come for me sooner or later. I flew into my room and slid under the bed on my belly. I knew it would probably be the first place they'd check, but did I care? No. I just needed time to think and I felt strangely secure under my bed.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered, banging my head against the floor. Any other citizen of Gotham would have recognized the Riddler and the Scarecrow right off the bat. With all the clues I'd been given, you'd think that it would have been easy to figure it out. But no, I had to be dumb and oblivious until it was too late. I always knew something like this would happen to me.

I knew I could likely deal with the Riddler. I was fairly good at riddles, and he wouldn't kill me if I got them right. I could stay alive for a while that way. But I knew the Scarecrow, on the other hand, would have no qualms about killing me or using me in his experiments. I bided my time thinking about daring escapes, daydreaming about Batman swooping in and saving me. I tried to stay alert, but I was just so comfortable lying on my carpet and they were taking a long time to actually come up, so I started to doze.

I was jolted to awareness suddenly; I thought I had heard footsteps in my room. I looked all around me, looking for their shoes. All I could hear was my own slightly quickened breathing. No rustling and no sign of their feet, so I relaxed. I figured it was just my stressed brain putting my imagination in overdrive, right as a rough hand wrapped around my ankle and yanked me out from under the bed. I yelped; I couldn't help it.

Despite my previous misgivings about the Scarecrow's musculature, he was actually quite strong. Combine him with the Riddler, and I didn't stand a chance. I fought back, of course, but I was soon wrapped in both of their arms, unable to struggle. They moved together out of the room and down the stairs, bringing me to the kitchen. They set me down, the Scarecrow stepping back and the Riddler with his arms around my neck. I clutched at his arm, and could feel what was presumably the barrel of a gun in my back.

"We need to decide what to do with you," Scarecrow said simply, showing little emotion. "I personally think we should kill you. What do you think?" I flinched, and the Riddler felt it, I'm sure. I wasn't sure if it was a question I was meant to answer, so I held my tongue. Instead, I averted my eyes, trying to ignore his burning holes in my face.

"_I _think we should ask her a riddle," the Riddler piped up. I nodded; that was what I'd been hoping for.

"NO. RIDDLES," Scarecrow said through gritted teeth, "You waste valuable test subjects that way. Besides, the second you let her go, she'll be off to tell the world where we are." The Riddler pouted like a child.

"A riddle seems fair," I interrupted. I figured then would be my best shot. I could practically feel the Riddler's grin beaming above me. I was probably going to die, but it was worth a shot.

"Stay out of this," the Scarecrow growled dangerously, and I clamped my mouth shut tightly.

"Come on, Jonathan! Just one? If she fails, you can have her!" the Riddler pleaded. The Scarecrow looked unconvinced. Threat or no, I decided to speak up again.

"Scarecrow," I began, and he gave me a death glare, but I continued, undeterred. "Here's a solution. I attempt to solve the riddle. If I fail, like Riddler said, I'm all yours. If I get it right, I'm not to be killed. You can have free reign of my house either way. Oh, and if I succeed, but try to turn you in, I'm basically giving myself to death by your hand." He seemed more convinced, or at least he knew he was fighting a losing battle, and stepped back.

"Fine," he grumbled, his face cloudy. The Riddler immediately pulled away from me, removing the gun from my back. He paced in front of me, thinking all while looking me over. Finally he stopped and faced me.

"Here we go," he said, rubbing his hands together. I held my breath, waiting for the hardest riddle I had ever heard. His brow furrowed, and then he grinned. "In and out, like the tides I go. Past the jaws, I move to and fro. If you lose me, find me fast, or else my loss will be your last." I swallowed. It wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be. I even thought that I might have heard it before. Scarecrow looked absolutely furious, so maybe it _was_ an easy one.

"_Well, any ideas?" _I asked myself, "_Better hurry. Words? No, that's too easy. Past the jaws…loss will be my last? Oh God, I'm going to die," _I whimpered. "_Get ahold of yourself. Come on, breathe. Breathe. Breathe? Breath!" _I thought triumphantly. But then I paused, full of doubt. What if I was wrong? I decided that it didn't matter – I was going to die anyway if I took any more time.

"Your breath?" I said hesitantly, half-expecting to be killed the second I opened my mouth. But the Riddler's smile got even bigger, if that was even possible.

"That's right!" he said, as if a person solving riddles was his thrill. For once, the Scarecrow showed a little emotion; his face was slightly red.

"You gave her an easy one on purpose," he fumed. So I had been right. Was the Riddler just trying to make me lower my guard with an easy riddle?

"Why on Earth would I sabotage my own riddles?" he retorted, "You should know me better than that." Yet after saying that, he winked at me. I faltered, looking at both of them silently. The Riddler looked more at ease, and the Scarecrow at least looked like he wasn't going to push it any farther.

"Well," I began, "If you're going to stay for a while, I have empty bedrooms upstairs." Nether answered or moved. "At any rate," I continued, making a show of looking at the clock, "It's getting late and my very kind boss is making me come into work tomorrow. So I should get some sleep. Good night!" I finished, spinning on my heel and leaving before they could answer. I walked stiffly up the stairs and escaped to my room, where I locked the door firmly behind me.

Not bothering to brush my teeth, I groggily set my alarm for six, knowing its annoying beep would come far too early in the morning for me to have gotten a good night's sleep. My mind was abuzz with all that had happened, but I quickly dozed off.


End file.
